


Defining Family

by stillgoldie1899



Category: Newsies (1992)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 12:15:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillgoldie1899/pseuds/stillgoldie1899
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one-shots that weave together a larger story. A chance meeting as children sets off a chain of events no one could have foreseen. But at the end of the day, what will you do to save the people you call family? (Jack and Goldie, an OC. Heavily implied Jack/Sarah.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What's Ya Name?

"What’s ya name?"

The little boy with the over-sized cowboy hat had a smile that could melt butter, in spite of the dirt smudges on his cheeks, and he stood in front of her with the casual air of a boy much older than his apparent six or seven years, hands in his pockets, rolling back and forth from the balls of his bare feet to his heels. She’d seen him around, a few times, recently. He, and his parents, had moved into the building next door, one of the few Andy, her mom’s boss, owned. She’d only really noticed because his mother was so pretty, with thick, dark hair she wore up, with a bronze clip, and lips that seemed red without the rogue she was used to seeing women wear. The boy in the cowboy hat had his mother’s good looks, her sparkling brown eyes, and lips that curved upwards into a sly, charming smile.

"Goldilocks."

And it was her name. It was the name her mother had given her, after months of calling her ‘baby’, according to Carmen, one of the other women who had been working at the Dancing Dove for as long as her mother had. Goldilocks, because she was blonde, and it was easy for her mother to remember, even in her drug-addled hazes.

"Goldilocks ain’t a real name. It’s a story. I’ve got a real name. Francis."

The boy seemed to puff up like a bird when he announced his name, clearly proud of it. Something about his face angered her, and she got to her feet, eyes narrowing, fingers balling into fists. She was several inches shorter than the boy in the cowboy hat, which wasn’t surprising, since she was short for her age, underfed, and often neglected. She got by on what she could scrounge, unlike the clearly well-fed boy.

"What’s so good about Francis? I think Francis is a rotten name."

The boy’s cheerful smile fell away, dangerously fast, his own eyes narrowing right back at her, puffing up again, this time in anger. He took a step towards her, and almost seemed surprised when she didn’t back down, her chin thrusting up so she could look up at him.

"Francis is my dad’s name. Ya take it back."

Her arms crossed, teeth gritting a bit, and she stood her ground, the way she always did. Some day, maybe she’d stand her ground with the wrong person, and get swatted aside like a fly, but with this boy, barely older than she was, seemed to be cowed by her behavior, unsure of what to do when a girl, a smaller girl, wouldn’t back down.

"Ya can take back sayin that Goldilocks ain’t a real name first, and I’ll think about it."

The boy, taking a step back, seemed to think about it, scowling slightly, his own arms crossing, mirroring hers, his body language just as stubbornly set now that he’d fallen back a bit. He remained silent for a very long moment, angrily trying to come up with a decent counter-argument to her demand. In the end, he couldn’t.

"Fine. It’s a fine name."

She smiled, accepting his apology, her shoulders untensing a bit, and a little of her bubbly behavior returning, tossing blonde curls out of her face. Her arms uncrossed, and she held out her hand, a peace offering, one she just assumed he’d take.

"Francis is actually a nice name, cowboy."

The boy stared at her hand for almost a minute, apparently torn about shaking hands with her. But he finally gave in, reaching across and gripping hers, his cocky smile finally making it’s way back onto his face, his own tension slacking as he shook her hand, firmly.

"Good to meetcha, Goldie."

"Good to meetcha, cowboy. Francis."


	2. A Broken Smile

"What’s ya name, darlin?"

His smile was charming, cowboy hat pushed back but still shading his face, dark eyes sparkling like he thought he might do more than just sell a newspaper to her. It had been years since she’d seen him, years, a lot of alcohol, and time she wanted to erase, but she knew him, of course she knew him. Francis Sullivan.

"Cowboy. What the hell’re ya doin here? Last I heard, ya’d gone to Brooklyn."

His eyes narrowed for a moment, before widening in recognition. And then, they narrowed again, and and she could see in his face how much time had passed, that a lot had happened since they’d last seen each other. She could see he wasn’t exactly happy to see a childhood friend, one who had caused him, and his family so much trouble.

"Goldilocks. Thought the hair color looked familiar. What, Andy lets his girls wander, now?"

He had never been cruel, as a child. He had never spoken to her in that clipped, cold way, as a child. He had never looked at her like that, the way men looked at her at the Dove, before she’d run away. A look that said he knew what she was, what she did, what she was worth. It was a look she had learned to ignore, but on his face, on Frank’s face, it killed her.

"I left. Ma died. Overdose. So, I left."

There was so much to tell him, so much she wanted to explain. It hadn’t been her choice, and his father hadn’t been the only one who paid, when Francis Sr came barging into the Dove and demanded Andy hand her over, that he was going to take her home, that she didn’t belong there, she was only thirteen. Andy had made sure she knew that he was paying his buddies to lock the man up on charges of crimes he hadn’t committed. Andy had a lot of friends on the police force, men who frequented the Dove, and paid for the women there. Only, when Andy said he was paying for it, what he meant was that she was paying for it, that he was giving his friends free reign, with her, for days.

"I’m sure Andy’s lookin for ya, then. He said ya were gonna make him rich."

His nose wrinkled a bit when he said it, lip curling into a sneer. It was an ugly look, and it hurt. He knew how Andy had planned to make that fortune, what it meant for her, what it would cost her, and he still seemed to think she had agreed to it, that it had been something she wanted. It made her insides curl, and she almost bolted, right then. But she’d been through so much, and it had left her so angry, that she couldn’t just endure his bitterness.

"Yeah, well, I didn’t. It wasn’t like I wanted to be there, Cowboy. It wasn’t my choice. And the moment I knew he wouldn’t hurt ma to get to me, I left. So, I’m sorry ya and ya ma got thrown out of ya apartment, but it ain’t like I was sittin on a pile of money, sippin champagne and eatin truffles. Ya don’t actually wanna know what it was like. What I’ve lived through. What I survived. Get off ya goddamned high horse."

She had always stood her ground with him, even as a child, but he was clearly surprised by her reaction, his cheeks turning a bit pink, even as he glared at her. Without realizing it, her nails were starting to dig into her palms, fingers balling into fists, ready to hit the look off his face if she had to. She couldn’t understand why he was being so horrible to her, it didn’t make sense.

"High horse…? Get off my high horse…? Ya boss’s friends, they did a bit more than throw me and my ma out of our apartment. They killed her. Butchered her, when we had finally thought we’d gotten far enough away. Tracked us down, and killed her. Ya boss did that. So, don’t tell me to get off of any goddamned horse."

It hit her, hard, like a bag full of bricks, almost knocking the air out of her. She could feel the blood draining from her face, she felt almost dizzy at it’s sudden movement. His mother, the woman who had all but adopted her, who had fed her, and given her clothing, presents, who had made sure she was warm in the winter, who had cared for her when she had gotten sick and her own mother hadn’t even noticed. Ada Sullivan had been an angel, to her young mind, a guardian angel, beautiful, and kind. And men she had been forced to endure, all the time, for the last several years had actually killed her.

"Frank, I didn’t know. Oh, god, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry."

The sneer had come back to his face, and his eyes narrowed again as tears welled, and quickly started tumbling down her cheeks. He backed away when she stood from the park bench she’d been sitting on, and took a step towards him, stepping back again when she reached for him, intending to hug him, or put a hand on his arm, something. He kept a physical distance between them, and it stung, badly.

"Save it. I don’t need ya sympathy. Why don’t ya just go back to the Dove, huh? It’s all ya good for. Whoring, and destroying people’s families."

She flushed, when the words spilled out of his mouth, like poison. That was what he thought of her, it was clear. And her first instinct was to punch the look off his face, hit him hard enough to knock the tone from his voice. Her fists were already balled up, jaw tense, bracing herself for doing it, for hitting him, square in the jaw.

But she couldn’t hit him. He was right. Of course he was right, and he was hurting, too. He’d lost his mother, his father was locked up, all because he’d begged his father to help her. Her. It was her fault, she had destroyed his family. He was right.

Without another word, she forced herself to turn around and walk away. Walk away from the man who had been her best friend as a child, who she’d thought of, every day, since the last time they’d spoken. She had daydreamed about him, what he would be like now, grown up. How he kissed, how he’d feel under her fingertips, how he would move. What it might be like, to be with him. Would he kiss her, like a lover, would he hold her when they were done, when there was just a moment of silence, as their hearts slowed, and the heat of passion cooled. She had always been half in love with him, but the years in between had done her in. And knowing that he would never think that way about her, that he hated her, that he thought she was trash…

That killed her.

As she continued walking away, for a split second, she thought she heard him say her name, softer, a little kinder. But when she turned around, to look at him, he was walking in the other direction, his hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped, moving quickly. She had just imagined it.


	3. The Way Things Turned Out

"I didn’t mean it."

She hadn’t expected him, Frank. hadn’t expected him to show up next to her, weeks after she’d last seen him, since he’d snapped horrible, but true, things at her and let her walk away. To her, the weeks between had seemed like years, hungry and cold, struggling to find work, and a warm place to stay. She hadn’t been successful at either.

"Don’t matter, Cowboy. Just the truth."

She was sitting in the park, and at least it was still warm. It was going to be winter soon, and that was going to be a problem. Especially if work continued to be scarce, and she was hungry enough that she was almost cranky, but rather than take it out on Frank, who had just appeared at her side, seemingly out of nowhere, she forced a smile at him, shaking her head.

"No, it wasn’t. Look, I wasn’t expectin to see ya. Ever again. And then there ya were."

He sat down next to her, and she moved to give him more room, not wanting to crowd him. In the days since she’d seen him, she asked around, found out what he’d been up to. Prison, union leader, happy surrogate family. He had everything he’d lost, just about. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to see her show up again, remind him of before.

"I’ll stay out of ya way, Frank. I won’t bother ya."

And she meant it. She didn’t want to bother him, he was better off without her. She was lost, drifting, didn’t know where to go, or how to get by. She knew eventually, she would fall back on skills she had never wanted to learn, but had long since mastered. And then she really wouldn’t be worth knowing at all.

"Ya had blood all over ya face. He’d broke ya nose, it was still bleedin. And I could tell ya were hurtin. But the worst part was that y’were cryin. I’d never seen ya cry. Scared the shit outta me. Scared pa, too. ‘S why he got so angry."

Startled, she glanced at him, wincing when she realized he was talking about that last night, when she’d gone running to his family’s apartment, sobbing, and traumatized. The night everything fell apart. The night her life ended, more or less.

"Frank…"

He didn’t seem to hear her, he just kept talking, like he’d rehearsed it, in front of a mirror. As though he’d been scared to talk to her about it. But she knew Frank wasn’t scared of anything, or anyone.

"It took me a few years to figure it out. What he’d done. Ma was gone, and I was runnin the streets, stealin to get by. Came across an alley, heard someone. Thought it might be a drunk, passed out, might have somethin worth stealin, so I checked it out. But it was just this girl. Younger’n me, tiny, dark-haired. All torn up, bleedin. Cryin. Gang of sailors had picked her up. And I knew, she had that same look."

Once again, she winced, sighing. She didn’t want, or need his pity, not about wounds long since scabbed over. Not with that look on his face, the resigned helplessness. She didn’t want him to feel that way about her, like she was something he had failed to protect.

"Frank, stop. Yeah, Andy hurt me. It was a long time ago. And no, ya couldn’t’ve stopped him. Ya pa did enough, tryin to help. That was enough. That someone cared, that there was a family out there who loved me. More’n my ma did. But all of that was a long damn time ago. Life keeps comin. Doesn’t stop. And ya have a whole life now, a good one. From what I hear. So, go live it."

She was jealous, of course. Of his good life. His happy life, with his friends, and the dark haired girl she’d seen him with. His life seemed to finally be back on track, the way it should have been, if he’d never met her, never gotten caught up with her mess. Not perfect, but getting there.

"I was in love with ya. The way kids fall in love, ya know. I though I was gonna marry ya, and live in a tree house in the park. I’d get a job in those stables, Old Man Phillips’s stables, down the way, and we’d eat sausages for lunch, ever day, from that cart that came by."

He still couldn’t look at her, studying his hands, his voice soft, and he laughed a bit, as though making fun of himself for having been so naive. It wasn’t until she moved her hand on top of his that he looked over at her, and could see her smiling, crookedly.

"I thought we were gonna live in a tent on top of the buildin ya lived in. Have a little garden up there. And I’d get a job in Capelli’s lace shop."

He laughed properly at that, his hand twisting around under hers to grasp her fingers, gripping lightly. It was such an innocent touch, his hand holding hers, so much larger then she remembered his hands being. It made her heart hurt, realizing just how much time had passed.

"I’m sorry everythin happened the way it did, Gold."

And so was she. But as she squeezed his hand back, she knew those children’s daydreams weren’t going to happen. Not just because they were silly, but because while she had never managed to move on, he clearly had.

"I know, Frank. I am, too. But ya should really get goin."

She already knew, somehow, that after he left, she’d eventually find her way back, to the Dove, to her life before. Leaving had done nothing but remind her that she was the only one not moving forward. And when he frowned at her, his concern clear on his face, she knew she’d have to lie to get him to go.

"Are ya gonna be alright? Where are ya stayin? Have ya found work?"

His questions were almost heartbreaking, and she knew he’d probably see right through her smile, forced, and tight. But it was the best she could do, under the circumstances.

"I’m fine, Frank. I’ve got it worked out. I’ll be alright. So, off ya go. I’ll see ya around."

He hesitated, his frown making it clear he knew she wasn’t being honest. So, she nudged him, repeatedly, until he got to his feet, letting go of her hand, nodding unhappily. She was left forcing a smile up at him from her bench, feeling like he was gripping at her heart.

"If ya sure, Gold. I’ll see ya around."

Watching him walk away a second time hurt just as badly as the last time. But she knew it was better this way. He had a chance. That was worth too much, to her, to drag him down. As for herself, when it got dark, she’d just find her way back to the Dove, and hope that Andy wasn’t so mad at her that he’d rough her up before putting her back to work. It was better this way.


	4. Someone Worth Saving

"Goldie…?"

She was so tired, and still a bit drunk from the night before, threatening to slide sideways right off the bench she was sitting on. It was difficult to pull her head up enough to see who had gently called her name, harder still to force her eyes open, shrug her thin shawl higher to cover her bare shoulders, the skin there covered in a smattering of bruises. But when she did manage to look up, it only made her wish she was still drunker.

"Franky. What’re ya doin here?"

It had been weeks since she’d seen him. Possibly months. It was cold outside, in any case, but Andy kept his bar just warm enough, even during the day when there weren’t very many people around, just a handful of regulars who came for the bad coffee, and to drool on the girls they might be able to afford later. The fact that Frank Sullivan had intruded into this world, her dark, and smokey, drug and alcohol laced world, was unexpected, and unwanted.

"Lookin for ya. Been lookin for weeks. Ya said ya’d sorted yaself out. Was this whatcha meant? That ya were comin here?"

She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t handle the look on his face, the disappointment, that look of sadness. It had killed her to come back to this place, to this life, almost literally. Andy had come close to breaking her jaw while he had blacked both eyes, the bruises hidden under layers of face paint. Breathing deeply was still a problem, one that wasn’t made easier by spending her nights on her back, being half-crushed by careless men. Andy was good at that, damaging his girls not so badly that they couldn’t work, but badly enough that it hurt, lingering, long after the beating had ended.

" ‘S all I’m good for, Franky. No one else wanted me."

She didn’t mean it to be an accusation, but the way he recoiled, she regretted having said it, right away. Wincing, she moved to stand, a struggle hindered by heavy reliance on the wall behind her, and the armrest of the bench, intending to correct herself, to not include him in that blunt statement. But he cut her off before she could speak.

"I know what ya meant. Look, I found ya work. Alphonse Capelli said he’d hire ya, so long as ya cut this crap out. No drinkin, no drugs, none of this. And if ya’ve forgotten ya hookwork, Sarah said she’d show ya. In the meantime, until we can find ya a roomin house, her ma said ya could stay with them. So, ya comin with me. Right now. And Andy can go rot in hell."

His kindness almost hurt, horrible, painful, and raw. She knew she was going to ruin everything for him, and he didn’t seem to care, he was just determined to keep looking out for her, determined to save her from herself, when she didn’t even know if she wanted to be saved anymore, if there was anything left to save. Her grip on the wall and the armrest faltered, and she crumbled back down until she was sitting, shaking.

"I can’t. I don’t… I don’t wanna mess up ya life, Franky. I’m gonna mess everything up. And Andy took everything of mine when I got back. What I’m wearin is all I have, I can’t go anywhere."

His hand caught her elbow, firmly, but gently, tugging her to her feet, and starting her towards the door, slipping out of his jacket, and carefully putting it on her shoulders. He didn’t let her get a word in as he got her to put the jacket on, pulling her into the street, and away from the Dove, not letting her pause or give a backwards glance when Andy’s voice rang out from the building. He all but marched her, quickly, through the streets, in the direction of the Jacobs’s apartment, and waited until they were blocks away before speaking.

"Sarah’s got a dress you can borrow for now. We’ll get ya some clothes, and a jacket, once ya’ve got a paycheck or two under ya belt. Some of the boys’ve scrounged up a spare scarf, and some mittens for ya, I’ve got ‘em at the Lodgin House. Ya start work on Monday, alright? Sarah’ll bring ya, she works there, too."

It was like he wasn’t listening to her. He didn’t understand that it was pointless, that she’d fail, that she’d destroy his new family the way she’d destroyed his real one. But she couldn’t stop him, he just kept propelling her forward, and she was so tired, and so broken that she couldn’t put up any sort of fight.

"I can’t meet people like this, Jack, I look like, I mean, I look like me. They’re gonna hate you for stickin ‘em with me. Please, Franky."

He finally stopped moving, and for one horrible second, she thought he might leave her there, which, somehow, was as terrifying as going with him. But he simply turned to look at her, his hands cupping her cheeks, shaking his head, with a sad, crooked smile.

"They know what ya’ve been doin, Gold. They know where ya’ve been living. But they also know I love ya. They know ya were my best friend when I was a kid, and they know ya all the family I have left. And they know ya didn’t want it, that ya didn’t want any of it, that ya got put there against ya will, that Andy hurt ya to keep ya there. They’re good people, and that’s all they care about, that they’re helpin someone who needs help. That I have a friend who needs help, and they can help. Please, just let me help ya. I can’t fail ya again. Not now. Not again."

Something about his voice just broke her, set her off sobbing, crumbling against his chest, clinging to him, like she had that night, when she was thirteen, and she’d run to him for help. She was so tired, so tired, and so broken, and his arms around her, holding her, were the only things keeping her together. She knew he could feel her break, giving in, allowing herself to have faith that he’d help her, that this time, he would help her, and maybe it wouldn’t destroy everything. When she finally looked up at him, tears still tumbling down her cheeks, but slowing, he was still smiling down at her, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

"Now. Lets getcha to the Jacobs’s apartment, alright? It’s cold out here."

She nodded, and let him tug her off again, with less resistance this time. She still wasn’t sure these people would want her around once they got a good look at her, but it would be someplace warm, at least, to rest. And maybe the job at Capelli’s Lace Shop would work out. Maybe things would really be alright. This girl of his seemed sweet, and if Jack loved her, that was really enough for her. Maybe, just maybe, everything would be alright.


End file.
